Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

Taking Kuibyshev firmly by the arm, he began guiding him towards the door of his office. “Calm yourself,” he advised. “If I were in your shoes it would seem to me that the best revenge would be financial. I don’t know about the big business you do, but there must be some way you can use all that money you have to your advantage.”

“Yes,” responded the fur merchant. “I’ll gut him! I’ll ruin him… drive him and his whole family out of town. But it will take time.”

“Yes, it will take a time,” Lepishinsky assured him, “but when he falls everybody will know what has happened and why. You will have your satisfaction, publically and legally.”

Apparently consoled by this thought Kuibyshev offered his hand in farewell.

“Thank you, Vissarion Augustovich, for your sage advice and, as always for your truthfulness.”

Lepishinsky shook his hand and then, gently gripping his arm once more, escorted Kuibyshev carefully down the steps and across the floor of the stable.

“If you will permit me,” he said as they walked towards the entrance, “let me also say this. You should not be too harsh on your wife. Obviously she needs a beating but remember what I said to you when you first brought her to Berezovo. I warned you that no one here will like her because she is too young, too pretty and an outsider. If you want to know the truth, I don’t think that she has a single friend in the town. I see and hear it all from up there,” he added, pointing towards the windows of his office, “all the comings and the goings. People talk when they don’t know anyone is listening. When you point a finger at her, just remember there are three of your own fingers pointing back at you. You brought her here. If you want her to settle down, you’ll have do something about it, and soon. Get her in foal, before someone else does. That should do it.”

“There’s a lot in what you say,” Kuibyshev responded wearily.

The two men stood for a moment looking out at the busy market stalls.

“There’s one of those prisoners I was talking about,” Lepishinsky observed, pointing to a small group of men conversing on the other side of the Square. “Stupid sods, off to Obdorsk.”

“They tried to change things by violent revolution,” said Kuibyshev. “We will find another way, through parliamentary reforms and economic growth.”

Chapter Three

Monday 12th February

Berezovo, Northern Siberia

When, by pleading fatigue, Trotsky had finally persuaded his guides to allow him to return to the Hotel New Century, he made straight for the dining room where he had left the rest of his fellow prisoners. It was deserted and the persistent hum of conversation from the mezzanine floor told him that his comrades had adjourned upstairs. Joining them he discovered that, with the exception of the two bored policemen posted outside its doors, the small lounge had taken on the appearance of a revolutionary headquarters. Local exiles stood huddled in groups swapping the latest news with their visitors, whilst others were busy playing chess, writing letters or reading magazines. Unknown to the two guards on the landing some wag had pinned a notice above the inside of the door. It read “THIS IS THE BEREZOVO SOVIET!” The sight cheered Trotsky, although he was surprised to notice that, rather boorishly, many of his comrades still wore their outer coats, despite the warmth of the room.

It might be thought that, given the enormity of their crimes, Fyodor Gregorivich would have had strong reservations about allowing the mezzanine lounge to become so brazenly the centre for revolutionists. However, the opposite was true. When the first few exiles from the convoy appeared for a cooked breakfast that morning he had indeed ignored their presence, deliberately making them wait for service. His attitude had quickly changed once he had received Matriona Pobednyeva’s brusque response to his bill for the Civil Reception that, for his own inflationary purposes, the Mayor had instructed him to send to his home address rather than to the Town Hall. Madame Pobednyeva’s suggestion that the account should be revised in the light of the hospitality he had secretly afforded Madame Kuibysheva and Leonid Kavelin – details of which Madame Kuibysheva’s husband was so far unaware – had put a different complexion on the matter.